


heartbeat (hide your lies)

by wolfscrow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Slash, Stiles Stilinski-centric, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24487639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfscrow/pseuds/wolfscrow
Summary: What he doesn’t expect, stupidly he should add, is the fucking werewolf that bit Scott.Stiles runs into a clearing when a hush falls through the forest, spooking him into stopping just at the edge of it where the werewolf stands on the other side. He’s gigantic on two legs, feet twisted like an actual animal's are. And the arms hang on both sides brush the ground with their length, claws thick and black like Stiles remembers. His snout is long and formed into a loose snarl, eyes crimson bright and pupils narrowed into pinpricks.Stiles stops breathing at the sight, goosebumps rattling up his skin and eyes catching on the blood that drips down the beast's fingers. He doesn’t see how this thing could be human at any time, so monstrous and terrifying as it is.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 23
Kudos: 116





	1. a spark (to ignite my bad intentions)

**Author's Note:**

> Season 1 rewrite, with steter and a bit of Stiles being part of the Hale Pack before the fire.
> 
> WARNING: Scott is gonna be kinda OOC for the first couple chapters, as I feel that suddenly becoming a different species is worth more of a freak out, with the accompanying mood swings. Don't worry though, we'll return to out regularly scheduled Scott as the story goes on.

The preserve is eerie yet beautiful in it’s haunting glow under the moonlight, a waxing gibbous the burns falsely bright through the drudge of thin clouds and low fog. Stiles’s heart bangs loudly in his chest, adrenaline and the like pulsing roughly through his veins after he and his best friend, Scott, narrowly escape from the Sheriff and his deputies. He almost wishes they had been caught though, as it becomes apparent that they’re very lost with no signal or GPS to guide them. 

A howl bursts into the air, close yet echo-y in the way most sounds tend to bounce around in the forest. Scott gasps harshly, the sound stark against the sudden silence of the woods. A branch somewhere behind them groans loudly and then cracks, and as Stiles whirls around to look a herd of deer bursts from the trees.

The deer hit the boys head on, both being knocked on their asses. Scott’s breath is loud through the chaos, the wheezy quality of it belying his worsening condition. As the cervine silhouettes blur over him, Stiles hears a solid snap come from Scott’s direction followed by a yelp of pain. A hand reaches out in his direction, impulsively driving Stiles to follow his friend, only to be promptly stopped when a hoof stomps on his wrist. The crunch of it reverberates through his arm, and the pain white out all thought from his mind. 

When his vision clears from the pain, the deer and Scott are gone.

In the quiet Stiles can hear Scott and his troubled breathing from over the edge of a steep incline. His friend is crumbled into himself in a small clearing and Stiles wastes no time in following Scott down. He almost tumbles as well on his descent, but manages to catch himself with his uninjured wrist. 

Scott seems to be generally unharmed upon first glance; a couple of bruises forming on his arms, with a painful bend in the middle of his forearm. Scott’s face tells another story though, gaunt with dawning horror and green like he needs to puke. A quick glance shows he isn’t even looking at his arm, but instead at the other side of the clearing.

Stiles sees guts and intestines first, bloody and horrible with a pool of blood forming beneath. Bone, still pink in color, poke from the viscera. Skin is torn like thin cloth, holes smattering the torso as maggots and worms crawl under the epidermis. She may once have been beautiful in life, but now her face is pale and sharp with death; her mouth open in an endless scream while her unseeing eyes are glazed white. 

Fangs peek past her lips, and furry sideburns grow past her ears and onto her jaw. Sharp black claws curl into her fists. Behind him, Stiles can hear as Scott finally vomits at the sight. Stiles feels a similar urge as his eyes are unable to leave the corpse of Laura Hale.

Scott’s just finished throwing up when a low growl permeates the air of the clearing. Scott freezes, but Stiles jerks his gaze towards the source and sees a hulking beast not even five feet from Laura’s body. Fog blurs the details, but glowing crimson eyes burn from the center of its mass. Stiles falls onto his ass and finds that Scott had managed to stand.

The growl grows, becoming deafening as it turns into a snarl before the beast blurs, getting louder, larger, and _closer_. Stiles desperately begins to claw at the ground in attempts to get away, grabbing futilely at Scott’s arm before his injured wrist draws a pained gasp from Stiles.

Immediately the growling reaches a crescendo before silence falls on the clearing. In the span of a moment Scott is fucking gone from his side, tackled into the ground with a roar from the beast. 

Stiles yells at the sight, and the beast’s muzzle snaps to him; its snarl showing off fangs glistening with blood. Stiles can see its face clearly now that it’s so close.

It’s fur is highlighted by the wet blood still adorning it- from Scott or Laura, Stiles doesn’t know. The shape of it is firmly lupine, and despite it being down on all fours the beast is massive with bulging muscles. Blood drips from it’s claws, sharp and black like Laura’s where they clench into Scott’s side. Slobber falls from its maw as it abandons its interest in his friend.

Its movements are slow as it walks to Stiles, but Stiles can’t move. Something keeps him there, a feeling deep in his chest like wires pulled taut. He clenches his eyes as the beast draws near, unwilling to meet his demise's gaze. Hot air mists in his face, three simple breaths before clawed fingers trace the side of his face. Stiles breath hitches, fear thundering with the pulse in his ear. He feels five distinct points settle on his face, gently pricking at the skin before rough fur drags down his check and jaw.

When he next opens his eyes, they’re alone in the clearing.

=

The night ends with the Sheriff and his deputies finding both Scott and Stiles, injured and bleeding. 

“Stiles what the hell are you doing out here?” Casey Stilinski asks frantically, voice somehow holding both worry and anger. His dad’s Sheriff uniform is rumpled from searching the woods, and the worry lines in his face are deepened with his frown. Casey pats Stiles down for any injuries not immediately apparent, all the while instructing his deputies to continue the search.Casey and another deputy, Tara Graeme, lead Stiles and Scott towards the road where an ambulance waits.

Sitting on the edge of the ambulance, Stiles tries to ignore the paramedic tending to his wrist to answer his dad. He tightens his grip on the shock blanket around his shoulders and wets his lips. “I, we--” Stiles sighed through his nose “--I just wanted to help.” He doesn’t say anything, just turns his head with a shrug of his shoulders.

Casey sighs as well, before running a hand over Stiles’s head and patting his shoulder. “Mietek,” his voice is soft and quiet, ensuring no one else but Stiles can hear him, “I understand you want to help, but this is a job for professionals. We don't know if she was murdered or not yet, and if she was her killer could be running around these woods.” 

Stiles glances up at his dad’s face, watching as Casey runs a hand over it in what looks like exasperation, before quickly casting his eyes away before he can see. “I’m not going to punish you, it looks like you got punished enough...” he gives a meaningful look at Stiles’s wrapped wrist. “But I need you to be more careful, okay? I can’t lose you too.”

Stiles can feel tears welling up at the vague mention of his mother and her untimely fate. The timing in general sucks. A few weeks from now is the anniversary of her death, and here Stiles is endangering his own life. Stiles inhales deep, before slowly exhaling through his clenched teeth.

“Okay.”

=

Wednesday morning school starts up, and Stiles has to be driven to school in his dad’s cruiser because he hasn’t quite figured out how to drive with a cast on. It’s highly embarrassing, but Scott doesn’t seem to care as he prances up to the cruiser and waves at Casey. Scott starts chattering the moment his dad drives away, mostly inane things, like lacrosse tryouts and a new girl in school causing some gossip to stir. But then Scott says something about not being as injured as previously thought, and now that he’s lookings, Stiles doesn’t see a cast on what was a pretty fucking broken arm last night.

“Dude, what the fuck happened with your arm? I’m pretty confident it was incorrectly bent last night.” Scott looks like he’s constipated for a moment, a classic confused Scott expression, before shrugging.

“I’m not really sure, Stiles. I thought it was broken too but when we got to the ambulance my arm was fine--” Scott seems to think for a moment “--well, there were bruises, but my arm was in one piece.” Scott is unbothered by this revelation, but Stiles is convinced his shit was broken, as evidenced by its appearance in his nightmares the night before.

“Look Stiles, I'm just happy I’ll be able to try out for Lacrosse, even if it’ll hurt a bit.” Stiles is just as happy that he _doesn’t_ have to play Lacrosse. “I’m also happy that the bear thing didn’t kill us last night so…”

Scott trails off a little awkwardly, and so Stiles finally relents about the mysteriously disappearing injuries. He’ll just have to keep an eye on Scott and figure out what the fuck is up with the not human shit happening in town. Quietly.

=

By the time Lacrosse tryouts roll around, Scott has fallen head over heels in love with the new girl. Stiles doesn’t necessarily blame him, she is cute and all, and manages to be adorkable in a cool way that secures her status amongst the Royalty of Beacon Hills High.  
  
Stiles has also collected evidence of Scott being a total weirdo, that may or may not be related to the disappearing injuries. This evidence includes- but is not limited to- flinching at nothing, knowing who will enter a room before they enter; and as Stiles watches the tryouts, gymnastic level shenanigans apparently.

Stiles watches in awe as asthmatic Scott McCall pulls off a fucking flip. _Over a person_.

When Stiles is dropped off at home by deputy Graeme, he proceeds to consume too much adderall and hyper focuses until he has an answer. The answer is Werewolves. Unfortunately he can’t just tell Scott this, Scott has already dismissed all the impossible acts he’s doing as his exercising working. So Stils needs to collect stone cold proof as well, which means more research.

By the time Friday happens, Stiles has enough evidence to show to Scott, except somewhere along the way Scott also got a date to a party later that night. With the possibility of ruining his chances at a girlfriend, there’s every chance Scott could ignore whatever Stiles says, and Stiles wouldn’t blame him either. But he also has to tell him anyways, even if it’s just to say ‘i told you so’ later.

When he manages to get Scott to come over, he’s so jittery he can’t help himself from running at the mouth. Though that may be the Adderall. “Get in. You gotta see this thing. I've been up all night reading - websites, books. All this information--” Scott cuts him off.

"How much Adderall have you had today?” While the assumption is correct, Stiles is a little indignant that he’s been interrupted.

"A lot? Doesn't matter. Okay, just listen--” Interrupted, _again_. "Oh, is this about the body? Did they find out who did it?” Scott looks mildly curious, but it's about all the wrong things.

“No, they're still questioning people, even Derek Hale.” Who is really shady because who the fuck is chilling in the woods after a body has been discovered, and also Stiles may hold a grugde.

"Oh, the guy in the woods that we saw the other day.” Scotty boy, he thinks, why the hell are you cutting me off so much.

“Yeah! Yes. But that's not it, okay?” 

“What, then?” Scott sounds really confused, but that’s okay, Stiles explanation will promptly fix that. 

“Remember the joke from the other day? Not a joke anymore. The wolf - the bite in the woods. I started doing all this reading. Do you even know why a wolf howls?”

“Should I?” Oh Scott, you really should.

"It's a signal, okay? When a wolf's alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So if you heard a wolf howling, that means others could have been nearby. Maybe even a whole pack of 'em.” Which is actually a very scary thought, considering one has already attacked them and turned Scott.

“A whole pack of wolves?” Big reveal time, “No - Werewolves.”

Scott looks at him with a combination of confusion and frustration on his face. “Are you seriously wasting my time with this? You know I'm picking up Allison in an hour.” What? Yes, but that obviously can’t happen considering he’s a werewolf and it’s the full moon.

"I saw you on the field the other day, Scott. Okay, what you did wasn't just amazing, all right? It was impossible.”

“Yeah, so I made a good shot.” Annoyance paints Scott’s tone, which is annoying in and of itself because Scott doesn't believe him.

“No, you made an incredible shot, I mean - The way you moved, your speed, your reflexes”--Stiles's own tone turns dry, because it’s obvious in hindsight--”Y'know, People can't just suddenly do that overnight. And there's the vision and the senses, and don't even think I don't notice that you don't need your inhaler anymore.” That last bit is probably the biggest clue here.

"Okay! Dude, I can't think about this now. We'll talk tomorrow.” The dismissal burns something ugly because Scott has always had the time to listen to him.

"Tomorrow?! What? No! The full moon's tonight. Don't you get it?” Please get it, Scott. I’m trying to help.

"What are you trying to do? I just made first line. I got a date with a girl who I can't believe wants to go out with me, and everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?” He sounds angry, in a way that’s usually reserved for Scott’s dick of a father.

“I'm trying to _help_.” Stiles’s voice turns desperate, tone pleading. “You're cursed, Scott. You know, and it's not just the moon will cause you to physically change. It also just so happens to be when your bloodlust will be at its peak.”

"Bloodlust?” Scott seems to finally be understanding, and that’s good. 

"Yeah, your urge to kill.” But, Stiles thinks, if the Hales had been werewolves then it’s obviously manageable.

"I'm already starting to feel an urge to kill, Stiles.” That’s a tone he’s never heard from Scott, it’s deadly almost, and causes a spike of fear to slide up his spine.

“You gotta hear this.” He shuffles through all his research, an amalgamation of printed pages and pilfered books to grab the one he needs, "'The change can be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse.’ All right? I haven't seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does. You gotta cancel this date. I'm gonna call her right now.” Stiles quickly swipes Scott’s phone, but the next instant his arm is in Scott’s tight grip.

"What are you doing?” His voice incredulous, and his hand hurts on Stiles’s arm. 

"I'm canceling the date.” Stiles speaks slow, fight or flight finally beginning to kick in. He tries to lean away from Scott as far as he can, and when Scott’s grip turns brutal with the threat of-- are those fucking claws pricking into his skin? 

“No, give it to me!” The words are a growl as Scott says them and Stiles finds himself pushed harshly against the wall. Scott’s phone in his hand falls from his grip as the claws quickly go from pricks to digging deep and drawing blood. Scott’s other hand bangs and drags against the wall next to Stiles head, and a snarl mars Scott’s face.

As fast as it happens, it’s over. Scott is on the other side of the room looking confused, holding his phone tight. Stiles can’t catch his breath, hands trembling as pain races up his arm from four neat circles where Scott’s claws had been.

"I'm sorry. I-” Scott cuts himself off, before squaring up, “I gotta go get ready for that party. I'm sorry.”

He leaves before Stiles can protest. The room is quiet at Scott’s abrupt escape, and blood drips down Stiles’s hand.

=

Stiles has an hour or two before the party starts, and a couple more after that before the moon rises. After he bandages his wrist, and that’s two wrists injured because of werewolf shit, he takes a moment to catch his breath. For a moment there, Scott had been terrifying. It had been predator and prey in that moment, and Stiles had been the prey. 

Stiles doesn’t blame him though; he riled Scott up pretty well there, and Scott obviously wants to be a normal teenager. Now he’s getting that life, even if it’s fueled by his new lycanthropy. His friend is obviously done with the conversation, so instead of following him and trying to convince him, Stiles goes to someone he knows will listen. 

He hops into his jeep and goes to the place he hates and loves with equal passion. Beacon Hills Hospital is a place that stinks of antiseptic, illness, and what Stiles believes to be the scent of death. He spent day after day during the last months of his mother’s illness. And he spent more time afterwards as well with the admittance of one Peter Hale.

Stiles and his mother had once been close to the Hales, spending all their spare time with them as they could. They’d drifted after his mom got sick, and while the Hales would watch him from time to time, Stiles had always preferred to stay by his mother’s side. Even during the moments when she wasn’t his mom. 

Still he likes to spend time with Peter, the last Hale in Beacon Hills, despite his previous experiences there. He doesn’t fool himself into thinking that Peter will wake up, has accepted that someday he will die or be taken off life support, but he visits and fills Peter’s room with his presence anyways. Because while he might never wake, Stiles wants him to feel like he isn’t alone. Maybe Stiles just doesn’t want to bring his hopes up.

Hope never really did much with his mom, anyway.

So, after the utter failure of trying to get Scott to listen to reason, Stiles goes to Peter and explains to him instead. It helps to get all the information off his chest. It makes him feel less alone, if a little depressed because the only person who listens to him only listens because he can’t tell him to shut up.

“I don’t understand why Scott won’t listen to me.” The frustration is harsh in his voice, pacing from wall to wall like a, _hah_ , a caged animal. “Practice or no practice, no one gets that good at lacrosse when they’re a severe asthmatic. I just hope I can get him away from anyone he could hurt tonight.”

He moves to sit in the lone chair of the room, and watches Peter breath for a moment to calm himself down. The nurses have moved him in front of the window, probably to give him a view, but he imagines the view doesn’t really help with how stale and clinical the air is in the room. Stiles sighs and opens the window. He’s read stuff about people being able to still experience everything in comas, even if they can’t respond to it. That’s one of the reasons he visits, and gives Peter a constant flow of flowers.

“How am I supposed to do this, Peter? Scott isn’t listening to me, not that he truly listens to me. But at least he tries and pretends to. Now he isn’t even putting in the effort.” Stiles sits down and leans his head against the wall below the window. “He’s gonna hurt someone tonight and I don’t know how to stop him.”

He needs a plan, he needs to keep Scott away from people when he eventually goes wolfy, and he needs to find out who turned him. He needs more information. Making a plan based on what he knows now won’t be very effective but it’ll have to do.

“But don’t worry Peter, I’ll come up with something.” The conviction in his voice feels false, but Stiles has always prided himself with his fronts and performances.

=

That Friday, with the moon steadily climbing the inky sky, Stiles sets out into the woods like an idiotic heroine. Scott had somehow absconded the part with only Allison and Stiles noticing, no one else even bothering to glance as he rushed by. Due to this circumstance, where the teen wolf had gone was a fucking mystery to Stiles. So, with only a moment's thought, he followed his instincts into the forest.

The moon is bright and illuminates a path of broken twigs and trampled underbrush easily. Stiles doesn't bother being subtle at all, assuming Scott will be louder in his panicked run.

What he doesn’t expect, stupidly he should add, is the fucking werewolf that bit Scott.

Stiles runs into a clearing when a hush falls through the forest, spooking him into stopping just at the edge of it where the werewolf stands on the other side. He’s gigantic on two legs, feet twisted like an actual animal's are. And the arms hang on both sides brush the ground with their length, claws thick and black like Stiles remembers. His snout is long and formed into a loose snarl, eyes crimson bright and pupils narrowed into pinpricks.

Stiles stops breathing at the sight, goosebumps rattling up his skin and eyes catching on the blood that drips down the beast's fingers. He doesn’t see how this thing could be human at any time, so monstrous and terrifying as it is. 

Their gazes meet, and Stiles can’t find anything human within the depth of its eyes. He stumbles a step back, falling onto his ass and he finally catches his breath. He hears a growl ratchet up from the beast and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut in fear. 

The sound becomes impossibly loud, like the engine of a train in his ear. A hot breath huffs in his face, moist with the scent of viscera. Stiles whimpers when he feels clawed, wet, hands drag along his throat and the front of his shirt-- before it all disappears.

When he opens his eyes the clearing is empty, and the air is filled with only his own loud breathing.


	2. hate being alone (you'll never make me leave)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He clutches the release valve as soon as he’s changed his hold and Scott is hit with the foamy nitrogen inside the extinguisher.
> 
> “Stiles? Wh- what happened?” Scott’s voice is warbly with confusion and fear as he stands back up. Despite the fact that Scott has obviously stopped trying to kill him, Stiles still flinches when the other tries to approach him. 
> 
> “You tried to kill me.” Stiles’s voice is small, though he tries to keep the bone deep terror he feels out of it. “It’s like I told you before,”--his voice grows confidence as he speaks--”it’s the anger. It’s your pulse rising. It’s a trigger.” Scott seems incredulous at this, almost unbelieving, and Stiles is about to burst his top if Scott disagrees with him.

Stiles doesn’t think he breathes again until well into the next morning.

After the encounter with the werewolf from hell, Stiles calls it a night and promptly abandons Scott to his wolfy instincts. Scott doesn’t seem offended the next morning, probably because Stiles doesn’t even bring it up. When Scott calls him the next morning raving about how Stiles was right - which, yeah? - Stiles spins a tale about making sure Allison got home alright after Scott’s freak out at the party. Thankfully Scott finally believes him, which means they can get to business with getting his werewolfism under control and figuring out who turned him. 

Because while Derek Hale is apparently a werewolf, he is not an ‘alpha’ and therefore unable to turn anyone into one. Were all the Hales werewolves? Doesn’t matter, because there are only two Hales left, because that body was freaking Laura Hale.

It’s a lot to process, but now they have a semi-trustable werewolf to learn werewolf things from, even if Derek doesn’t like Stiles and Scott doesn’t like Derek. That’s okay, Stiles doesn’t like Derek either. Though the leaving Beacon Hills thing was probably more Laura’s decision than Derek’s but either way neither of them visited Peter at all.

What’s worse is the Argents are fucking werewolf hunters, which means Scott should probably avoid them like hell, but Scott is determined to have some tragic Romeo and Juliet romance with Allison. Nothing Stiles says convinces Scott to lay low. 

Whatever, out of the two of them, Stiles is better at long term planning anyway. Which will be needed because the so-called Alpha is fucking murdering people. God, life was far simpler just a few days ago. 

=

Monday comes and Scott insists on doing lacrosse. Admirable as it is, it’s the worst idea ever considering how shaky his control has been.

It’s starts out well enough, laps and suicide runs and the feeling like his body is shutting down in a revolt from doing so much athletic bullshit. But then Jackass starts antagonizing Scott, and Scott is obviously not happy about that. At all. Stiles can see Scott’s eyes glow bright amber from his spot on the sidelines. He has a single moment to think, oh shit, before Scott is beelining it for Jackson.

There’s a sick crack heard around the field, and then Scott is gone. Jackson lays in what looks to be agony where they collided, holding onto his shoulder as he curses.

Stiles has the feeling of resignation deep in his chest, he knew this was such a bad idea. Still he quickly follows Scott to the locker room, but he barely gets a greeting out before a low growl resounds through the room.

Stiles turns towards the showers to see Scott crouched and eyes glowing yellow, fangs glinting in the light. Stiles’s breath catches in his throat at the sight, fear sweat beading on his skin. The growl grows in volume and Scott jerks forwards. With his heart beating wildly, Stiles runs to the otherside of the locker room.

He hears the clank of metal and the lockers near him groan with weight, a quick glance upwards showing sharp claws shredding metal easily and the sickly glow of Scott’s eyes. A yelp escapes Stiles’s mouth as he dodges Scott’s swiping hands. He feels his jersey get caught in claws and his heart ratchets in response.

Stiles scrambles for a weapon but there aren’t any lacrosse sticks lying around- and then he spots the fire extinguisher. Heavy metal would be useful if he can get a good grip before Scott catches him. Without another thought, Stiles flies for it, direction changing sharply enough to throw his friend off.

Stiles manages to grab a hold of it before claws scrape harshly on his shoulders, pulling him from the wall and throwing him into the solid corner of the lockers. He loses his breath for a moment, the world lost in the sea of pain he feels, before he registers that he still has the extinguisher in his grip. A quick glance and Stiles can see Scott standing tall above him, hand out ready to rip his throat into shreds.

He clutches the release valve as soon as he’s changed his hold and Scott is hit with the foamy nitrogen inside the extinguisher.

“Stiles? Wh- what happened?” Scott’s voice is warbly with confusion and fear as he stands back up. Despite the fact that Scott has obviously stopped trying to kill him, Stiles still flinches when the other tries to approach him. 

“You tried to kill me.” Stiles’s voice is small, though he tries to keep the bone deep terror he feels out of it. “It’s like I told you before,”--his voice grows confidence as he speaks--”it’s the anger. It’s your pulse rising. It’s a trigger.” Scott seems incredulous at this, almost unbelieving, and Stiles is about to burst his top if Scott disagrees with him.

“But that’s  _ lacrosse _ .” Scott literally whines, like an actual in-human canine whine. “It’s a pretty violent game if you hadn’t noticed.” Scott pouts, and the sight of his friend looking like a puppy is enough for the last traces of fear to leave Stiles’s system.

“Well it’s gonna be a lot more violent if you end up killing someone on the field.” 

=

Scott is frankly terrified of himself, but is stubborn like a fucking mule. Stiles kind of understands, Scott is finally getting everything he's wanted- the girl, popularity, star athlete- but the price is almost murdering people every time he gets a little excited. That's not a price Stiles would be willing to pay just to have a nice life.

Stiles thinks he might have made Scott see a little sense, his friend is willing to lay off lacrosse until he has this whole werewolf thing figured out. But then Derek fucking Hale goes and ruins it by  _ threatening _ Scott. Scott still stops doing lacrosse but now really hates Derek’s guts- so much so that he actively goes and confronts Derek, risking his life by angering a far more experienced werewolf. It doesn’t end in Scott’s murder, thank god, but Stiles has an inkling that it was a close call.

Stiles takes the chance to visit Peter. He usually tries to keep it regular, so while he has lacrosse practice on mondays and wednesdays, he visits with Peter on tuesdays and thursdays. This time he brings fresh flowers to replace the ones he brought him last week that are beginning to wilt. This arrangement is a bunch of wildflowers he knows are native to the town. 

He talks to Peter the entire time he switches them out, who is laying in the room’s bed today. His nurse has tucked him in tightly, arms resting above the sheets. Stiles makes the executive decision to open the window again and loosen the sheets a little. It’s pretty stuffy in the hospital today, so fresh air will be good for him.

“Scott is supposedly talking to Derek now, hopefully he’ll spook Derek into chilling out a little. I can’t imagine many people have called him out on his behavior in the past six years.” He takes his usual seat at the corner once he’s satisfied with the room’s state. His bag lays underneath it, long forgotten with the homework he usually works on during these visits. “I wanted to go with him, give Derek a piece of my mind. You know he hasn’t even stepped foot in this hospital yet?”

Stiles huffs at this admission. What kind of nephew doesn’t even visit his uncle after a week of being in the same town? The shit kind that’s who.

“To be fair he could be sneaking in through the window, but I highly doubt it. He’s more concerned with his dead sister’s killer than his last living family member.” That kind of lack in loyalty, in care for family, escapes Stiles. He doesn’t understand it at all, he has some distant cousins he isn’t remarkably close with but if they were his only family left he wouldn’t abandon them like the Hale siblings seem to have abandoned Peter.

“I’m sorry your nephew’s a dick, but you don’t need him.” Here Stiles pauses, curiosity breaking his little tirade about ungrateful family members. “It makes me wonder though, I know he’s a werewolf and that Laura was probably one too, but are you one? Initially I didn’t think so, being catatonic and all, but I looked at the files for the fire and you ended up pretty burned up. There’s no way a human coulda’ survived them.” He looks up from where he’d been watching his fingers fidget at a frayed piece of fabric. “I hope you aren’t though, because I imagine it would make all this worse for you.”

Then his phone’s ringing Hungry Like the Wolf with Scott’s name flashing on the caller ID. It looks like his visit’s being cut short. He doesn’t bother answering it then, just busies himself with gathering his things and saying bye to Peter. “Seems Teen Wolf’s confrontation is over- I’ll see ya thursday.”

=

Scott is a fucking idiot and for once, he’s the one that’s gonna get them killed instead of Stiles. Somehow he’s convinced Stiles to come and dig up the yard in front of the Hale house, determined that there’s a body buried somewhere. It takes them fucking ages to even reach a body- but when they do it’s a normal wolf body they find instead of anything actually incriminating.

Stiles is too busy making sure nothing creeps up on them to pay attention to Scott’s indignation at being wrong. But that’s how he finds the rope that circles the makeshift grave, it’s a spiral with a purple flower twined into the end, vibrant even in the dark of night.

The horrible shift and crack of bone brings his and Scott’s attention to the dead wolf, and they both watch with morbid fascination as the body literally changes into that of a woman. It’s- visceral. She’s chopped in half, and it’s not a clean cut either. Guts and intestines spill from where her torso ends and her hands end in yellowed claws. Her eyes are the worst though, because they are empty and unseeing, what could have once been moss green is glazed over with death.

In the distance Stiles can hear Scott throwing up his dinner. The sight does disgust Stiles but some part of his brain can only think of Peter, catatonic and abandoned by his pack for six years, and he can’t help but feel a curl of righteousness at Laura’s death.    
They end up shoveling dirt back into the shallow grave so that they can leave a tip about it to the Sheriff’s Department. Unholy glee splits across Stiles's face at the thought of Derek being arrested, even if he knows that Derek didn’t kill Laura. Stiles has been known to be very vindictive.

=

Derek Hale is arrested the next day, the current charges are evidence tampering, it is undetermined if he should be charged for the murder of Laura Hale. Either way Stiles ends his day incredibly happy about the turn of events. Even if Derek only ends up spending a couple hours in interrogation.

Stiles watches as Derek is led into the back of the police cruiser in handcuffs, and waits until all the deputies are preoccupied before slipping into the passenger seat.

“Okay, just so you know, I'm not afraid of you.” Conviction makes Stiles’s voice strong. “I just wanna know something. Your uncle- whether a werewolf or not, you and Laura abandoned him.” His tone turns seething, anger for Peter leaching into his words.

“Why are you so worried about him when it's your friend who's the problem?” Derek's tone is blank but his face is shifted into a glare.

Stiles scoff’s and responds with heavy sarcasm, “Nice deflection Derek, but not what we’re talking about Scott here- Scott can take care of himself most of the time.” Derek looks disbelieving at this statement but he hasn’t even known Scott long. “I asked about Peter, and how you can justify-” 

He’s cut off by a growl, low and dangerous, before Derek begins talking. “We had to leave, we didn’t know if we had hunters chasing after us- Why do you care anyway? Why do you care about some shell of a man in a hospital when your friend could  _ kill you _ with one bad mood?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at the man and thinks about the time before the fire. The Derek he remembers would have never thrown such callous comments about family, would never have left without trying to protect anyone he had to leave. His next words are bitter, dipped with poison and spiked with barbs.

“I care because I remember that he’s family- I may not have known you were werewolves as a kid but I remember the feeling of being pack. You don’t leave pack to die.” He can tell that he’s hit Derek where it hurts, and all he can think is that he needs to hurt him more. There’s a strange feeling in his chest telling him to rip and rend into Derek until he knows how that feels. How it feels to be left alone.

“You’re human, human little Stiles playing with things he doesn’t understand. You’re gonna get yourself killed.” The last word is sharp in the silence that follows. Stiles doesn’t bother responding, he’s said his piece. Which is good because the next thing he knows he’s being dragged out of the cruiser with a firm grip over the back of his neck.

His dad pulls him until they’re both a good distance from the car, though Stiles knows that Derek will be able to hear them. The vicious feeling that had filled him before is now gone, and it feels like a hollowness in his chest that shouldn’t be there. He absently rubs a hand against his sternum where it had sat.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” His dad’s voice is harsh, rough and not dissimilar to the one he uses on criminals.

“I'm just trying to help.” Stiles tries to make his tone earnest, and knows it falls far off at his dad’s face.

“Okay, well, how 'bout you help me understand exactly how you came across this.” The Sheriff makes a swift motion to the scene where deputies and forensics case it for clues. Stiles knows full well where he gets his flailing from, and can’t wait until it's more like the sure movements his dad makes.

“We were looking for Scott's inhaler.” Not a lie- they had been looking for his inhaler just not yesterday.

”Which he dropped when?”

”The other night.” His dad raises his eyebrows at this, which isn’t good.

”The other night when you were out here looking for the first half of the body.”

“Yes.”

“The night that you told me you were alone and Scott was at home.” Stiles squints at this, fairly sure he’s just made a fatal blunder.

“Yes. No. Fuck.” Goddammit, his dad isn’t letting him think in between questions and now he’s going to be very grounded.

”So you lied to me.” Disappointment creeps into his dad’s voice, which is way worse than the anger he was expecting- disappointment means resignation, it means giving up.

“Well- yes, but-” His dad cuts him off with a quick motion of his hand, a decisive cut outwards and away. Stiles turns his head away from his dad’s expression, unable to bear what he might see there.

“Just get the hell out of here, Stiles.” 

Stiles sighs at the finality in his tone. “‘Kay.”

They go their separate ways, the way they always seem to be after mom.

=

The rest of the week is a mish mash of avoiding his father, Scott being busy with Allison, and a decrease in visits with Peter due to grounding. Stiles’s frustration with Scott grows in this time, because Scott is thinking with is dick and not his brain- all he wants to do is spend time with Allison, and now Lydia and Jackson, and talk about the lacrosse game saturday. In a normal situation he wouldn’t care much with the exception of less bro time. But there’s a murderous werewolf out there and  _ Scott _ is a werewolf with shit control.

There are more important things than high school drama.

Stiles tells all of this to Peter on his visit Thursday, huffing and puffing all his anger at Scott to him. When he finally calms, Stiles is red in the face from his ranting and is glad that most of the nurses in this wing are on break at this time. He takes a few breaths to chill out further before sitting in the lone visitors chair in the room. A lot of his aggravation at Scott is more because of the hollowness in his chest he’s felt since they got Derek arrested. Only now that he’s drained his frustration after a long week of Scott the teenage boy and paranoia induced insomnia does it feel less empty. The gaping maw it had been has lessened during his time with Peter and feels more warm with the others presence.

It’s a wonder what the sensation is, it’s not something he’s ever really noticed before, but it feels familiar so he imagines it’s something he should be used to. He idly thinks about the time before his mom got sick, when he would spend hours with the Hales as his mother talked to Talia. He remembers something similar sitting between his lungs and spine when he was with them.

Something to research for sure.

=

Saturday is the first game of the season, and despite popular opinion Scott prepares to play front line. Stiles knows it’s going to be a disaster since the other boy has scorned any attempts to talk about the werewolf thing since Tuesday, probably deciding it's a done deal with Derek preoccupied. Therefore, there’s been no attempts to control his wolfy nature in intense moments. 

What’s worse is that Chris Argent, father of Allison and a fucking werewolf hunter is in the stands, which means that now is not the time to be playing naive. Scott, of course, plays on and goes near feral on the field- so much that the opposing team is scared out of their minds by him. Most likely it's their lizard brains telling them to beware.

Unsurprisingly they win the game, and Scott bounds off immediately. Hopefully to try and keep the murderous urges away from other people. Stiles is unable to get away just like that, crowd forming and making it near impossible to pass through. By the time he makes it to the locker room where he thinks his friend will have run too, Allison has beat him to the punch. Considering the lack of screaming and blood he assumes Scotty got a handle on it in time.

Stiles makes a noise of disgust at the sight, that’s his bro there doing some macking, no thanks. The noise draws their attention, ending the makeout session.

“I gotta get back to my dad.” Allison sways away from Scott as she says it, regret clear in her tone, but begins walking towards the exit anyways. “Hi, Stiles.”

“Hey, yeah.” Stiles makes a halfhearted wave at her, in that awkward kind of way one does towards their friends’ girlfriend.

Scott is grinning goofily at nothing before declaring, “I kissed her,” with adoration and a sickly sweet feel to his voice.

Stiles, the ever dutiful friend, confirms this without the way he feels about it coloring his response. “I saw.” A quick nod finished the statement, hopefully Scott will end it there.

He doesn’t. “She kissed me.”

Reluctance makes its appearance at the memory. “Saw that too.” Maybe he should be more supportive. “That's pretty good, huh?”

“I-” Scott stutters, “I don't know how, but I controlled it. I pulled it back. Maybe I can do this. Maybe it's not that bad.” There’s hope on his face and conviction in his tone, if Scott takes this as a victory then Stiles will never be able to convince him it’s way more serious then that. 

“Yeah, heh, I don’t think so-” Scott cuts him off, obviously not pleased with his differing opinion.

“What do you mean? This is progress, right?”

Stiles inhales harshly through his mouth, not willing to break his spirit but not seeing any other way around it to make his point. “Just because you managed it once doesn’t negate the fact that you didn’t before- that you probably won’t next time.We shouldn’t expect it when one out of four times doesn’t end in disaster.”

Scott has grown more incensed as Stiles makes his point, a very not happy and very  _ not _ human growl coming from his friend. “Why can’t you be happy for me Stiles!? It’s bad enough you caused this, why can’t you let me have this!” The words end in a roar, reverberating through the silence that follows.

Stiles’s chest feels too empty, scooped out and hollow again. He can’t blame him- it is Stiles’s fault they were out there that night. But the acknowledgement hurts more than he expected. Stiles blamed himself for it, but knowing that Scott does too is a million times worse. 

“Okay.” It’s barely a whisper, but he knows that Scott hears it anyways. Stiles's shoulders are tense and his heart heavy. He turns without another word and leaves, Scott’s silence is telling.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! I have rough drafts for the next couple of chapters and no schedule, so updates are gonna be a bit random. I will gladly take grammar critiques and the like.
> 
> Visit me on tumblr [@newtsnogitsune](https://newtsnogitsune.tumblr.com/)


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